


Triple Axel Please!

by mahons_ondine



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Olympics, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, a little bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:59:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahons_ondine/pseuds/mahons_ondine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Zimmerman is at the Olympics, playing for his country, and he can't seem to leave the rink.  Not even when the figure skaters are using it.  Especially, not when the figure skaters are using it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triple Axel Please!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcasticfishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/gifts).



> For [sarcasticfishes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/pseuds/sarcasticfishes) who prompted with: "Winter Olympics AU? Where Jack and Bitty meet in the Olympic village. Rating is up to what the author is comfortable with but considering what goes on in the athletes village, I would LOVE if this was an M or E rating?"
> 
> I hope you like it, sarcasticfishes! 
> 
> If this fic is any good at all it's all due to my lovely beta Tai. She was super helpful and supportive. Go check her out on [tumblr](http://taidoesartandthings.tumblr.com/) where she posts some pretty fantastic fan art and original work! 
> 
> Finally, Check Please! is not mine, but fortunately Ngozi let's us play in the world!

Jack Zimmerman has a secret that he’s never told anyone.  He doesn’t think his friends would understand. He knows the adoring public would hate him.  And he is pretty sure his parents would be disappointed in him—his father for what he wants, and his mother for not going after it.  You see, the thing is, Jack Zimmerman has always wanted to be a figure skater.  There.  It’s out in the world now, and nothing particularly terrible has happened.

One imagines that most people would think that Jack’s secret is that he’s gay.  He is.  That isn’t a secret though, and he’s pretty ok with that.  Sure, he’s not exactly out in the media, but his friends and family and teammates all know, and that’s enough for him for now.  When he told his teammates they had been pretty darn understanding—none of that “oh, now I’m afraid to be in the shower with you” bullshit.  And really, they shouldn’t be.  Hockey bros are definitely not his type.  He probably would have been given a much wider berth if he’d sat them down and told them that instead of playing for the Habs, slamming guys into walls and chasing down pucks, he wishes he could put on spangles and do triple salchows.  Actually their first question would probably be what exactly spangles were, but you get the picture. 

So yeah, Jack has never told anyone that he wishes he were a figure skater.  He’s never even told anyone that he likes to watch figure skating.  He’s got about a dozen dusty old VHS’ under his bed in his parents’ house, hidden away like dirty mags.  He follows figure skating the way his fans follow hockey.  He doesn’t go to competitions, but he does watch them on TV.  He has watched some of the kids training at local rinks; and his college hockey team put on a joint fund raiser with the local figure skating club when he was a Senior.  That was the best day of his life up to this point—the figure skaters played a hockey game, and the hockey players tried their hand at figure skating.  So yeah, he had to mess around, and pretend that he felt silly trying to do jumps, but it felt amazing. 

It’s pretty embarrassing, though, that some Saturday fundraiser from college was more exciting than getting signed by the Habs, or getting tapped to play on the Canadian Olympic Men’s Hockey team.  Those were great too, of course.  Jack does love hockey. He really does.   He mostly just loves skating, and he’s really glad that he gets to skate like this—professionally and all.  He just sometimes wishes the skating, and he, were dressed a little differently. 

And that is how he ends up donning a baseball cap and some obnoxiously large shades and sneaking into the rink whenever he has free time between practices.  They’re pretty empty, mostly coaches and sometimes the competition filling the seats, and he knows they’ve seen him, but they don’t seem to care as long as he’s not filming. He likes the night practices the best. When he’s just finishing up a practice with the team, and he hears classical music filtering through the speakers into the locker room, he can’t help himself. There’s something beautiful in the next room, and he has to see it.  So he lingers in the shower until most of his teammates have left, and when the last ones filter out, he tells them not to wait for him—that he’ll see them back at the house later.  They chirp him about making sure to wash his jizz off the shower walls, but they leave, and he gets out and gets dressed. 

When he slinks into the arena, he doesn’t see the skater at first.  In fact, he doesn’t see anyone.  It’s a little surprising, since normally there’s at least a coach or two, but it is fairly late.  He slides into a seat close to the ice, and finally, spots the skater.  He’s fiddling with a CD player on the other side of the rink.  When he skates into the middle of the ice, Jack has to press his fist to his mouth to keep in the gasp.  It’s Eric Bittle.

The music starts, and Jack thinks it sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.  It’s certainly not the classical music that most skaters use—it’s pop music, but it’s not the same song Bittle was using at his last competition.  He’d liked the song.  It’s the only Beyoncéhe has on his Ipod. Jack knows that Bittle is well known in the figure skating community for being a little bit out of the box, and his music choices are only the most obvious reason.  He’s lightning fast, and he gets wicked height on his jumps because of his powerful legs.  He isn’t the most elegant skater, but he has such power and grace that you don’t notice it.  Jack is a bit of a fanboy.  Ok, Jack is a huge fanboy.  Before he knows it he’s out of his seat, leaning over the wall between the ice and seats, so that he can get a better look. He tears off sunglasses, and he’s just letting out a little sigh over a beautiful quad axel, triple lutz combination, when Eric Bittle sees him and starts to skate over. 

Jack freezes. 

He stares at Bittle in horror, then grabs his glasses and turn to run. 

“Wait.”

Jack ignores him. 

“Wait! Aren’t you Jack Zimmerman?”

Jack stops short, tripping on the stairs and sliding down the few steps he’s managed to scale. 

“Oh my word! Jack? Uh, Mr. Zimmerman? Are you alright?”

Groaning, Jack sits up.  He pulls off his baseball cap, and runs his hands through his hair.  He’s so embarrassed.  First he snuck into this guy’s practice, then he tried to run, and then he failed to even do that.  What a mess.  Might as well get it over with. 

“I’m fine.  And yeah, I’m Jack Zimmerman.  Jack’s fine.  Thanks, uh Eric?”

“Uh, you know who I am?”

Jack blushes. Oh shoot.  Way to keep a secret, Zimmerman.  Good job.  Jack squeezes his eyes shut, and hopes he wakes up. He doesn’t.  He does, however, feel a hand softly squeezing his shoulder, and a voice whispering “are you ok?”

“Yeah.  I’m ok.  And yes, I know who you are.  Yes, I like figure skating.  Yes, I’m a huge fan of yours.  Hah, isn’t it a hilarious—a hockey player who is in love with figure skating.”

By the end of his tirade Jack is shouting.  The music stopped long ago, and his last words seem to echo in the arena. 

“Jack. . . I happen to like figure skating too, you know. “ 

And now Jack knows he’s made it even worse.  Now he’s insulted the guy. 

“I’m sorry, Eric” he mumbles.  “I’m just not supposed to like it.” 

Bittle humphs, shoving at Jack’s shoulder. “Scoot on over, hun.” 

Jack scoots.  Bittle sits down next to Jack, and knocks shoulders with him. 

“First, no one calls me Eric except for my mother.  All my friends call me Bitty, and I think I’d like it if you did as well. Second, I don’t see what being a hockey player has to do with not liking figure skating, but I happen to like hockey, and I’m a figure skater.  And third, I won’t tell anyone you’re here if you don’t want me too.  I … I understand what it’s like to be in the closet.  About a thing, anything, I mean.  Any secret.  I wasn’t saying you were gay or—“

“Bitty? I am gay.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m not in the closet really.  It’s just the figure skating thing, actually.  I like figure skating.  It’s so beautiful, and crisp.  Hockey is chaos, and figure skating is, well, it’s perfect neatness.  You’re a really good skater, Bitty.”

“Thanks, Jack.” 

Bitty grins, patting Jack’s knee, then snatching his hand back and staring at it. 

“Heavens above! You’re hurt!”

Jack glances down to see the blood seeping through his torn jeans.  He shrugs.  It barely even stings. Jack has had worse injuries from carrying around hockey equipment, never mind actually playing.  But Bitty seems pretty flustered, and Jack lets himself be led into the locker room. 

Leaning down to unlace his skates, Bitty tuts, "Take off your pants and sit down for me." 

 

"I'm not that kind of girl, Bitty!" 

 

"And what if I am, Mr. Zimmerman?”

 

Bitty slides his skates into his locker, swiftly followed by his long sleeved shirt, leaving him clad in only leggings and a skin tight tank top. Jack's mouth goes dry as he tries to conjure up a response.  He eventually mumbles his way through "don't look like any kind of _girl_ to me..."

 

"True," he laughs, deploying his well-stocked first aid kit. 

 

Jack is so distracted by the sight of Bitty, beautiful, lithe, graceful Bitty, kneeling on his knees in front of him, that his scrapes are cleaned and bandaged and he hadn’t even realized it was happening.

 

Jack blushes.  He isn’t good at this, this flirting thing.  He never really knows what to say, how to joke, and tease, not really. But, yes! He’s skinny.  That’s a good thing to chirp him over. 

 

“You, uh, you could eat a little more protein, actually. Kinda scrawny."

 

"Is that so?" Bitty slides his hands up Jack's thighs, "any suggestions as to what I could start with?" 

 

Jack watches Bitty's hands until they stop at the tops of his thighs, his slim fingers spread out to frame his cock. His very obviously hard cock. 

 

"Oh!" 

 

"Yes, Jack? Do you have a tip for me or not?" He purrs, tongue darting out to wet his full, pink lips. 

 

"Hunf. Please, Bitty." 

 

"What do you want?"

 

Jack groans. He's not good at this. Yes he's out and he's not exactly a virgin, but Parse always just took what he wanted, and the handful of one night stands he's has over the years have been drunken flings. No one has ever asked him. He's never had to say what he needed. He's begged, yes, he doesn't mind begging, but Parse told him what to beg for. Bitty seems to want directions? Or maybe just permission? And Jack can do that at least. Jack can give this beautiful man his body and ask for him to play with it a little. He can tell him that he doesn't know what he wants other than whatever Bitty wants. And so he tries. 

 

"Bitty, I can't." 

 

Bitty freezes, then tries to yank his hands away, but Jack is faster. He grabs Bitty's wrists and pulls his hands to his groin. He settles them lightly on his cock, groaning at how good his cool fingers feel against his heated flesh.  It's not enough, though, Jack knows that, and so he tries to explain. 

 

"I want you. Anything. Anything from you. I want what you want. I can do this. I want to do this. Just can't choose. I choose you. Is that enough?" 

 

It's the longest thing Jack has said. It was hard, but he tried. If Bitty's face is any indication, though, it seems to have worked. His thumbs are rubbing in gentle circles on the insides of his thighs, and he is grinning wider than Jack has ever seen him grin at any figure skating competition. 

"Ok." 

 

"Really?" 

 

"Of course. You want me to make choices for you?" 

 

Jack nods hesitantly. 

 

"And you'll tell me if you change your mind and want to stop?" 

 

Jack nods again, but this time he's sure. 

 

"Alrighty, then," Bitty slides Jack's boxers over his hips, and helping him to pull them off.   "Well then. What I want is to suck your cock until you're about to come, and panting for me, begging for it. And then I want to work you open with my fingers, and then I want to bend you over the bench right here in this locker room and see if I can make you come with just my cock. How does that sound?"

 

He punctuates his question with one long lick from the root up to the tip of Jack's cock. 

 

"Tabarnak!"  

 

"Is that a yes?"

 

"Yes. Yes, please." 

 

Bitty grins before taking Jack’s cock into his mouth.  He starts slow, little kitten licks, getting his cock wet.  Jack sighs, and Bitty tilts his head down, and then he’s sliding further down Jack’s cock, swallowing him down.  Bitty’s throat is tight, and as he pulls off he’s gasping for air.  Jack’s watching, enraptured.  He can’t drag his eyes away from his cock sliding into Bitty’s mouth. Bitty makes such a handsome picture with his spit slick lips wrapped around Jack’s cock, his eyes closed in pleasure. He tentatively reaches down to run his fingers through Bitty's shining hair, disrupting the neatly gelled blond locks. They tumble into his eyes and Bitty pulls back, shaking the curls out of his face and rubbing the flat of his tongue against Jack's frenulum, and that’s it. Jack yelps, yanking his hand away from Bitty's hair and grasping the base of his cock hard. 

 

"Fuck, please. I can't..." 

 

Bitty pulls off his cock with a pop and swipes the back of his hand across his face.

 

"Alright, Jack. I've got you," Bitty croons as he settles into the floor, resting his back against the cold steel of the lockers. He tugs Jack down into his lap. 

 

Jack is shaking, and he’s so sensitive, and Bitty seems to know just what he needs. He wraps his arms around Jack and rubs his back, pressing soft kisses along Jack's jaw. He sighs and relaxes into Bitty's arms. He's lean, yes, but he's so strong and Jack feels so good now that he's wrapped in the figure skater's arms.

 

Hazily he turns into the gentle kisses, trying to catch Bitty's lips with his own. Bitty hums, meeting his lips in a slow, nearly chaste kiss. They kiss for a long while then. And Jack feels warm and languid as Bitty explores his mouth, tasting his lips and teeth and tongue in turn until Bitty is thrusting his tongue into Jack's mouth, and Jack realizes he's thrusting his cock into the soft cotton of Bitty's shirt and he needs. He whimpers, unsure of what to ask for or how to tell him, but Bitty seems to know. He pulls away from the kiss with one last nip to Jack's lower lip. 

 

"Hand me the first aid kit." 

 

"Huh?" Jack groans, blinking lazily at Bitty. 

 

"Behind you. It's on the bench."

 

Jack fumbles behind him and pulls down the first aid kit, dumping it on the floor. Bitty huffs out a laugh and pulls out a jar of Vaseline, leaving the rest of the kit strewn across the floor. 

 

"Always prepared, huh?" 

 

"You shut your mouth, Jack Zimmerman! It's so my skin doesn't get chapped in the cold!" 

 

"Uh-huh. You some kinda Boy Scout?"

 

"Actually yes, I was! Don't complain, you're going to be the benefactor of my preparations." 

 

"True," moans Jack, spreading his thighs wider as Bitty's slick fingers (when did he even do that?) begin to rub his perineum, one finger reaching out to circle his hole. 

 

"Good," whispers Bitty. "Spread yourself nice and wide and then see if you can find a condom in the kit." 

 

"Don't need one," says Jack, thrusting against Bitty's questing finger until it slides into him.

 

"But—" 

 

"Well aren't you clean?" 

 

"Yes, but—" 

 

"We both get tested for sports all the time. I feel like a pin cushion sometimes—" he pants out as Bitty slides a second finger in next to the first and spreads them wide, stretching Jack's ass open for his cock. 

 

Bitty slides his fingers smoothly in and out of Jack’s hole, massaging the rim with his thumb.  Jack watches him through heavy lidded eyes.  He looks uncertain for the first time, and Jack hates that look on his face. 

 

“Alright, Bitty.  It’s alright.”

 

Jack pulls away, and reaches for the kit, but he doesn’t get far.  Bitty yanks him back into his lap, forcing a third finger inside Jack.  It burns a little as it slides in, but the feeling fades after a second, and then he just feels full.  He feels like Bitty is under his skin, and his whole body is hot and swollen.  He moans, riding Bitty’s fingers, everything else forgotten.  Bitty pulls him close, curling his fingers so that they rub against Jack’s prostate each time he slides down on them. 

 

“I don’t usually do this,” whispers Bitty, “but you’re right.  We get tested all the time, and I want. . . Fuck, Jack I want to feel your skin against mine.”

 

Jack’s too far gone to manage any words, but he whimpers, nodding encouragement.  Bitty watches him, in wonder for a moment, then scrambles to pull his leggings off.

 

“Kneel up,” he barks, positioning Jack just where he wants him, and pulling his fingers out. “I said over the bench, but no. Like this.” 

 

Bitty struggles with his leggings, getting them down over his hips, before finally yanking down one side, pull them off his right leg.  They’re stuck on his left leg, but he doesn’t care.  His cock is free, dripping precome, and he has to be inside Jack right this instant.  He coats himself in the Vaseline, depleting the small jar of all of the cool, slippery gel, and when he pulls Jack into his lap, and onto his cock, he slides right in.

 

Jack feels amazing.  And he takes Bitty’s cock so well.  Bitty tells him that, praising him, and Jack blossoms under the praise. 

“I practice,” he grunts out, rolling his hips as he rides Bitty’s cock.

“What?”

“Dildos.  At home.  I like to ride them.  I started small, but now I can take some pretty big ones.” 

Bitty squeezes his eyes shut, and pictures Jack doing just that.  And what a picture it is—Jack furiously grinding down on a huge, thick dildo, his cock bouncing with every thrust. 

“Fuck, Jack.  Show me,” Bitty gasps, “ride me how you’d ride one of your dildos at home.  Come on, you beautiful boy. “

“Oh yes.” Jack lights up with the praise.  It looks good on him—he looks transformed, glowing.

Jack speeds up, his smooth rolling thrusts morphing into a hard, staccato rhythm, driving Bitty’s cock into him over and over.  Bitty leans back, watching Jack through slitter eyes.  Jack is flushed, and sweaty, and beautiful riding his cock.  And Bitty is a little breathless just watching him.  He feels so amazingly lucky to have this stunning, sweet guy with him, and he has to tell him. 

“Jack, god you look so good like that, Jack.  I love seeing you stretched around my cock. I love seeing your cock bouncing against your belly.  You’re so lovely.  Darn it.  I want to see you come.  Make yourself come on my cock.”

Bitty knows he’s babbling, but he can’t seem to stop himself. The words are pouring out of him, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind.  In fact, Jack is taking to it like a duck to water, preening, and arching, and furiously thrusting down on Bitty’s cock.

“Come on, Jack.  Come on, gorgeous boy.  Fuck yourself with my cock.  That’s right. Come on, Jack.  Come for me.” 

And then he is.  He’s grinding down on Bitty’s cock, and he’s coming all over their bellies, nearly sobbing with the force of it.  And Bitty follows him right over the edge, grasping Jack’s hips. Bitty digs his fingers, nearly bruising the delicate skin, and pulls him flush up against him, filling him up with pulse after pulse of come.  

Bitty leans back against the lockers, trying to catch his breath, and pulls Jack close. Something in Jack has eased with his orgasm, and he nuzzles into Bitty’s shoulder, unabashedly seeking contact.  Bitty strokes Jack’s sweat slick hair, enjoying the glow of their mutual orgasms. 

“You’re amazing,” Bitty murmurs into Jack’s ear.

“Mm, no.  Not really.  You’re pretty fantastic, though.” 

“Hey, none of that,” Bitty pushes Jack back so that he can look him in the eyes, “You trusted me to make choices for you today, so trust me again when I tell you that you’re wonderful. “

Jack tries to look away, but Bitty grips his grin, and forces him to look at him. 

“You’re talented, and sexy, and beautiful.  I’ve been a fan of yours for a while, not just because you’re a good hockey player, but because it’s clear from your interviews that you’re a good teammate, and a caring captain.  And you deserve all the good things in your life.”

“Like you?”

“Anything you want.”

“Can I have you?” he whispers, his blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his chest. 

“Yes, Jack.  Absolutely.” 

Bitty pulls him into a kiss, and Jack sinks into it, leans into Bitty’s soft skin, and affection.  He didn’t know how much he needed to feel this wanted, but he doesn’t feel like he needs to try so hard with Bitty.  He can be a mess.  He can fall and stutter and get confused, and Bitty still seems to like him; and Jack thinks that maybe he’s found something other than the hockey that is worth keeping.  Maybe he isn’t a figure skater, but perhaps dating one will be enough.  Definitely.  Jack pulls away from the kiss and snuggles close to Bitty.  They’re sweaty, and clammy, and the locker room floor is cold, but it still feels lovely to just be there.  It feels lovely to just be. 

“Next time, can I see you in sequins?” 

Bitty laughs. 

“Anything you want, Jack.”

“Spangles?”

“Anything.”


End file.
